


Cabin Mishap

by jonsasnow



Series: What Happens On Holiday Stays... There? [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Cabin AU, F/M, Jonsa Exchange, jonsa, starks in a cabin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-30
Updated: 2017-09-30
Packaged: 2019-01-07 02:46:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12224160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jonsasnow/pseuds/jonsasnow
Summary: When Sansa drunkenly stumbles into bed, she finds a surprise she might not totally hate.





	Cabin Mishap

It starts out innocently enough. They’re all staying at the Stark cabin for Christmas because their parents decided to go on a second honeymoon to the Caribbean, essentially ditching their mostly adult kids for the holiday. Sansa and Bran think it’s sweet, but the rest of them are a little more indignant, which is when Robb hatches a plan to throw a rager of a weekend party at the Stark cabin with all of their friends. Considering it’s Christmas, their ‘friends’ extends to only Jon, Theon, Jeyne, Gendry, Hot Pie and Meera. Everyone else has better plans. Sansa doesn’t blame them. If it isn’t for the fact that they’re her family and she’d rather be with them than alone for the holidays, she wouldn’t be coming either. The cabin isn’t that well insulated. It’s old; it’s creaky; and it’s bloody freezing.

Still, at least Sansa knows this and warns everyone to pack extra warm clothes, duvets and whatever else they need. She goes and buys a mattress heater for herself, and not the cheap Asda kind either. She buys a seriously expensive one because despite growing up in Scotland, Sansa gets cold unfairly easily.

They’re about half an hour from the cabin and Sansa is squished in between Jeyne and Meera in the backseat of Robb’s four-door car. Bran is up front, and the rest are in Jon’s larger SUV. She snuggles closer to Jeyne, pressing her head into her best friend’s shoulder, while her arms are clinging tightly on.

“Cosy there, Sans?” she asks with a quirk of her brows. Sansa nods, still shivering, though Robb has the heater up full blast. Jeyne wraps her arm around Sansa and jerks her head to get Meera’s attention. “C’mon. Let’s make a Sansa sandwich.”

The younger girl laughs but easily complies. They’ve known Meera for three years now, since Bran met her at his university’s fresher’s fair and decided this was the girl he was going to marry. They’re not engaged ( _yet_ ), but they’ve been inseparable for long enough that the Starks have already adopted her as a sister-in-law. It’s not hard to fall in love with the girl. She’s quiet, but intelligent, warm and clearly as into their brother as he is into her.

Meera wraps her mitten-covered hands around Sansa and leans into her till half of her body is practically lying on top. It’s so nice and toasty that Sansa can’t help letting out a contented sigh. If she was a cat, she’d be purring.

“I guess we’ll be letting you have the downstairs room, huh?” Robb asks, peering at them through the rearview mirror.

“You’re bloody right you’ll be,” she answers instantly.

The downstairs room is small and cramped, but it’s the warmest one in the whole cabin and also the only one on the ground floor. The rest are upstairs. It doesn’t matter to Sansa though. She’d sleep on the floor in the lounge if it meant warmth.

And so that’s where she runs straight to once they arrived at the cabin in case anyone dares steal this room from her. Sansa immediately drops her suitcase and rummages through for the mattress heater. She makes quick work of strategically placing it on the side of the mattress she normally slept on and plugs it in.

It doesn’t take long for the other car to arrive and for her family and friends to pile in, racing upstairs to claim their rooms. It takes even less time for them to crack open the alcohol, throw several pizzas in the oven and begin their boozy weekend of fun.

“Okay, okay, but you can’t blame me for _leaving_ ,” Theon says, waving his beer around with a slow grin on his face. “They were cheerleaders! Two of them!”

Everyone groans, and Robb throws a pillow at Theon’s head. “Dude, I was naked! You kicked me out of the room!”

“You’d have done the same thing to me,” he counters with a small shrug.

Robb opens his mouth to retort, but Jon quickly cuts him off with a simple, “you would’ve.”

They all laugh and Sansa catches Jon’s eyes as she does. They’re not exactly close even in spite of having grown up with each other, but three months ago, he came to her rescue when she caught her ex cheating and was stranded in the middle of the night outside of that bastard’s flat. Sansa couldn’t bear to call Robb, knowing how much her brother had warned her off of Joffrey, and Jeyne was out of town. Jon was her only choice, and to his credit, he had come to her rescue immediately, ushering her into his car and dropping her off at home without so much as an ‘ _I told you so_ ’. She’s indebted to him, one hundred percent, but what could she possibly do to pay off that debt when Jon’s the single most guarded man she’s ever met?

The night quickly deteriorates from there when Arya shouts for a drinking game. One round of King’s Cup has Bran and Meera saying their good nights. Two rounds has Hot Pie, Jon and Jeyne stumbling off to bed respectively, and at the beginning of the third round, Theon passes out right there on the sofa with his mouth hanging open. They’re just getting into the third round when Arya accuses Robb of cheating and the two get into a shouting match, which is when Gendry hauls Arya off with her thrown over his shoulder. Sansa can still hear her little sister screaming about fairness and integrity from where she’s lying, feet hanging over the side of the sofa while her head is angled awkwardly towards the game on the ground.

“Alright, baby sis,” Robb says, swaying as he attempts to stand. “Our turn. Off to bed we go.” He stumbles forward, drops a kiss on her forehead and ambles towards the staircase. Rickon follows suit, dropping another kiss onto her forehead before following their big brother up the stairs.

Once she hears their door shut, Sansa rolls off of the sofa with a sigh. She’s drunk, but not as drunk as everyone else, so she tidies away the empty bottles and empty crisp packets as best as she can. Before she heads to her own room, Sansa throws a blanket over Theon.

She’s freezing in spite of all the alcohol in her body and she’s desperate for the warmth of her duvet and mattress heater. When she gets to her room, she quickly slips underneath the covers and ambles over to where she placed the heater only to still when she hits a solid wall. It’s pitch black and the lamp is on the other side of this wall, so she can’t even see what or rather _who_ it is. In her alcohol-addled brain, she thinks it’s a burglar, but then why would a burglar break into their cabin to sleep in her bed? It doesn’t make sense, so Sansa peers a little closer, so close she can feel their breath on her skin. It smells of whiskey and something minty. Using the hand not propping herself up, she brushes her fingers over his face, and immediately, the wall hums and Sansa stops breathing altogether.

“ _Jon_ …”

He murmurs something in his sleep before suddenly throwing a large heavy arm over her torso and pulling her flushed against him. Sansa squeaks in surprise. She’s definitely not drunk enough for this – or maybe she’s just drunk enough because she somehow doesn’t have the urge to move. Jon’s so warm and so solid, and with his arm around her and the mattress heater below her, she feels like she’s sleeping right beside a fireplace.

Wiggling so she can turn herself around, Sansa backs up against him and clutches onto his arm, letting the alcohol fool her into thinking cuddling with Jon is a damn good idea right now. It’s not like they’re doing anything else. It’ll be totally fine in the morning.

It’s not fine. It’s totally not fine, and as she blinks away the sleep, the fog lifting from her brain, Sansa panics. It’s the slow kind of panic that starts as a niggling feeling before it grows and expands until her whole chest is seized with fear. Her back is still melded into his chest, but now his head is nuzzled into the crook between her neck and shoulder, his hot breath fanning across her skin. It does wonderful and horrible things to her body that she accounts to not having had sex in four months, long before Joffrey and her even broke up.

Sansa tries to move, but Jon just tightens his grip around her and scoots closer, as if that is even possible. That’s when she realises that his hand is splayed across her abdomen _underneath_ her jumper, twitching every so often against her. Sansa sucks in a breath when Jon shifts again and his hand moves up to rest just below her breasts.

This is so wrong, so very wrong, and she should jump out of bed _right now._

Except Sansa really doesn’t want to move. Her body is sore from sitting in a cramped car for four hours, her head hurts from all the drinking they did last night, and she just knows she’ll freeze as soon as she leaves the confines of his arm and this bed.

Sansa is deliberating how long is an acceptable amount of time to stay cuddled up with her brother’s best friend when she feels Jon stirring behind her. She squeezes her eyes shut and waits. At first, he doesn’t seem to notice anything amiss, but then his whole body freezes and the hand on her abdomen tenses. Neither move for what feels like hours and then Jon begins to slide his hand away. Panic rises up in her at the movement, a different kind to her panic earlier, and without thinking, Sansa grabs hold of his hand and keeps him there.

“Stay,” she murmurs, voice hoarse from sleep.

Jon does stay but he also doesn’t say anything for awhile, which makes her flush with embarrassment, so thankful he can’t see her right now. She thinks he’s not going to say anything at all and she’s just about to slip away humiliated, when his thumb begins slow circles along the skin just under her right breast. Sansa’s breath hitches and she inadvertently arches her back into him.

Jon groans, low and rumbling against her ear. “Sansa, are you sure you want to do that?”

She does it again and smirks. “You started it.”

There’s a huff of air that sounds like laughter before his thumb brazenly begins to brush the underside of her breast, softly, like a whisper along her sensitive skin. Sansa can’t help the mewl that leaves her lips.

“This is a bad idea,” Jon whispers, and Sansa wholeheartedly agrees, but it seems neither of them care because his lips are then on her neck, trailing hot kisses up to the spot behind her ear. “A really bad idea.”

“The worst kind,” she replies as she grounds back against him.

Without another word, Jon turns her in his arms and his mouth immediately finds hers, kissing her hungrily and desperately like she’s his salvation. Sansa doesn’t mind because she’s just as needy as he is, winding her arms around his neck and pressing herself up against him. They’re just getting to the good stuff when –

“Sans!” Jeyne shouts as her footsteps descend down the stairs.

Jon and her immediately freeze, pulling back just enough to stare wide-eyed at each other.

“Sansy pants!” comes Arya’s voice next. “Do you have paracetamol? Jeyne and I are _dying_!”

There’s another long second before Jon and Sansa fly into action. They grab his clothes, which he’d shed last night, and shove them under the bed. They have maybe fifteen more seconds before Jeyne and Arya burst through the door, which incidentally Sansa forgot to lock for some asinine reason, but instead of following his clothes and diving under the bed, Jon cradles her face between his hands and leaves a long lingering kiss on her lips.

“We’re not done here,” he whispers against her, just as the doorknob begins to turn. Jon swiftly slides under and Sansa throws herself down onto the bed, trying (and probably failing) to look as casual as possible.

Arya and Jeyne enter immediately one after another in hurried fashion. First, Arya flops down dramatically onto the bed, then Jeyne starts rummaging through Sansa’s bag for the medicine pouch she carries with her everywhere. “Did you just wake up?” Jeyne asks, throwing out Sansa’s other pouch for feminine products. She likes to be overly prepared for every scenario; it’s a habit she picked up from her mum. “It’s nearly eleven, babe. You never sleep in.”

Sansa huffs then yelps as Arya’s cold feet wiggle against her shins. “Arya! Stop that!”

“It’s _cold_ ,” her sister murmurs before wrapping her limbs around Sansa’s. “And you’re so warm!” There’s a pause before Arya’s head suddenly jerks up, “actually, you look really flushed. You sick or something? Because I don’t wanna get sick. Gendry and I have tickets to see –”

“I’m _not_ sick,” Sansa says, unfortunately flushing from head to toe because damn her sister and damn Jon, who can hear everything happening right now. She glares at Arya. “I’m just tired. Give me another hour, yeah? I’ll be out in a moment.”

Jeyne gives a shout of victory as she finds the medicine pouch, pulls out the paracetamol packet before taking some and throwing it at Arya. “No can do, Sans,” she says. “Robb is herding us out the door in half an hour. He wants to go into town so chop chop, time to get dressed.”

Although she can’t see him, Sansa can practically feel his mirrored frustration right now. “Ugh, remind me to kill our brother, Arya,” she says instead, while trying to dislodge herself from her sister. Arya huffs but rolls off the bed and walks towards Jeyne by the door.

“Thirty minutes, Sansy pants,” her sister reminds her. “Or Robb’s gonna come here and drag you out whether you’re dressed or not.”

“Yeah, yeah,” she sighs, as she gets up and walks towards them to usher them out. “I know. Now get out.”

As soon as they’re through the door, she slams it shut. She’s just about to lock it when she feels a hand wrap around hers on the doorknob, clicking the lock shut for her. Another hand wraps around her waist and slides underneath her jumper. His breath is hot on her neck and Sansa practically cries out when his lips touch her pulse point.

“So we have thirty minutes,” he whispers. “Fifteen minutes to get dressed and fifteen minutes to…”

“ _Jon_ ,” she reprimands with a soft laugh. “Fifteen minutes is not enough time for anything.”

“Is that a challenge, love?” he laughs as well, the rumble of his chest against her back doing deliciously delightful things to her core. “Because I’ll happily accept.”

With all the self-control she can muster, Sansa turns in his arms and pushes him back. “Wouldn’t it be more fun,” she says as she pokes his chest, “if you spent _all day_ thinking about all the things you can do to me,” she wraps her arms around his neck, “waiting for tonight when you can,” she kisses the edge of his lips, “do them all to me?”

Jon’s eyes dilate, darkening them even further, and without saying another word, he kisses her just as hungrily as he did before, only this time there’s a promise there. _Tonight_ , he’s saying, _you’re all mine_. Sansa isn’t one to disagree with such a fact.

“See you in half an hour,” Jon tells her between kisses. He lets his hands fall down from their spot around her lower back, casually dipping under the band of her underwear, before pulling away so suddenly Sansa lets out a soft cry of protest. Jon laughs and kisses her once more, softer and gentler this time, before disappearing quietly out the door.

Sansa drops to the floor with a muffled groan.

“I am so so screwed.”


End file.
